Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars Ch. 03

"Jeez, Ben. When'd you hear this?"

"Couple days ago. Look, I know you're getting ready to start this week, so here goes. We're getting our first 752s in this year, and from what I hear management is really going to get behind this hull. I'm thinking, with your experience you could make captain in two, maybe three years, and the 57 is Delta's future. You hearin' me?"

"I am. And, what's the punchline?"

"Our first school starts in three weeks. You can start the Paris run as scheduled, put in your app and wait, but I think they'll take you."

"What do I need to do?"

"I'd get down here pronto and get the paperwork in."

"Like, this afternoon?"

"Like yesterday, Jim. The word's out. Tomorrow will be too late for the first group of FOs."

"I'll be there in an hour," he said as he hung up the phone, and when he turned around Barbara was standing in the doorway, glowering at him.

And that's when he noticed the used condom on the floor by her shoes. He looked at it for the longest time, then he picked it up and carried it right past her on his way to the bathroom. He flushed it down the toilet, washed his hands then left – without saying a word to her.

He missed the smile on her face as the door closed behind him.

+++++

"Two days of this rain is enough, Paco. I've had it. You ready to run down to Nancy's, grab some chow?"

"Oh, man, I thought you'd never ask!"

"Is Nancy's that place you two keep talking about?" Tracy asked.

"Nancy's is only the best place for breakfast on earth," Ted sighed, suddenly almost salivating.

"And what that really means," he added, "is that he's tired of my cooking."

"I'm not," Tracy said, smiling.

"Well, I am," he said. "I could use a break. You ready to pull up the hook?"

"You wanna leave now?" Ted asked.

"Yup. Maybe we can get there before the early morning rush."

"The early morning rush?" Ted croaked. "In Lund, B.C.?"

"You see all these boats anchored here, Paco? Well, there are probably two hundred more over in Gorge Harbor, and in about an hour they're all gonna wake up and have the exact same thought – at the exact same time. My-oh-my, but a fresh cinnamon roll over at Nancy's sure sounds good!"

"Alright, alright...let me grab my gloves, Captain Bligh."

"Good. I'll warm up the diesel." He preheated the water lines and flipped on the spreader lights, then went to the cockpit and started the engine, watching the gauges as it warmed. When Ted pulled up on the trip-line and gave him the thumbs-up, he ran the windlass, pulling the anchor, and it's chain, up onto deck, and he verified their position on the plotter while he turned to leave the cove.

Light rain and a wind-driven, four-foot chop greeted them outside, and he set his course to 1-5-6 and engaged the auto-pilot, then went topsides to roll out the headsails. When both were pulling he and Ted raised the main, then he ducked below and fell off the wind a little, letting the sails fill, then he fiddled with the heading on the AP for a while, until a gust hit and Altair heeled over dramatically.

"Whoa!" Tracy shouted, grabbing the cockpit coaming and holding on for dear life. "Where'd that come from?"

He chuckled. "Where did what come from?"

She scowled as she looked at him, then she smiled too. "It is kind of fun, isn't it?"

"Kind of." With her port-side rail over far enough to ship water in the troughs, Altair bit into the wind and began racing south towards Lund, and still the sun was nowhere to be seen. The sky was simply sifting through shades of gray as night turned to day, and the water looked impossibly black out here...like India ink. He saw the lights of a fishing boat ahead, and a few channel markers were flashing in the darkness, but there was almost nothing else...

"Dad! Logs!"

He saw them then – almost invisible in the rolling waves – a half dozen trees had broken loose from their raft and were adrift mid-channel, so he fell off the wind and they picked their way through what turned out to be several hundred fifty-to-seventy-foot-long timbers, knocked free from their rafts by the storm, so he did what he thought best and called the hazard in to the Canadian Coast Guard...

It took two hours to make the run down to Lund after that, and he was more than ready for a cinnamon roll, too, by the time they tied off at the nearby fuel dock. He was stressed now, afraid of hitting an errant log and holing the hull, maybe losing his home.

"Stayin' long?" the owner, a very old man asked, and when he pointed to Nancy's the old guy just smiled and nodded. "Take your time. No crowds 'til nine or so. See many logs out?"

"Yeah...hundreds..."

"I heard some guy called 'em in to the Coast Guard. That's a laugh..."

"A laugh?"

"They're too busy running down the druggies to do much about it. Besides, happens every summer up here..."

"Oh? I've been up here a few times, never seen it so bad."

"They've been cuttin' trees like nothin' I've seen before, and all winter, too. China, I guess. They're building like crazy over there – and usin' our lumber to do it, I reckon."

"Lot of drug running up here?"

"Non-stop. Word is most of it's comin' from North Korea, too. Chinese heroin, I've heard, for the most part. That's kind of funny, don't you think?"

"China has made an art out of playing both sides of the street – for a long time."

"Playin' us the fool, too, and laughing all the way to the bank."

He shook his head then went about topping off both tanks, but he turned to Ted then and told them to go on up and get a table.

"Want a roll?" Ted asked.

"Yup..."

"Need water?" the old guy asked. "The hose is right here...I can watch the pump if you want to top off your tanks..."

+

He was chilled – and soaked to the bone – by the time he made it inside Nancy's, and he made it to the table just as his cinnamon roll arrived.

"Coffee, sir?" their waitress asked.

"Yup. A big one, French roast if you've got it. You know what? Make mine a latte, if you can."

She nodded, smiled at him and walked off to the counter.

"Man," Ted began, "that's some snotty weather, Dad...I don't know about this..."

"Not the weather that bugs me, Paco. It's all the wood out there..."

"Wouldn't they just bounce off?" Tracy asked. "It's just wood...?"

"Maybe, if you hit one just right, but that wood is soaked with water, almost as hard as iron. Odds are, I think, a strike would knock a hole in the hull. A big one." Her eyes went wide as she realized what they'd just been through, how close they'd come to a real emergency, then she looked away – out to sea. "Talking to the guy at the dock," he continued, "he says this is the worst summer for rafts breaking up, ever. Been a lot of incidents in the main channel, too."

"What do we do?" Ted asked, his mouth scrunched up into a lopsided frown.

"Well, for one, I think when we leave we'll head back slowly, only on days when the visibility is good, and only in daylight. Next...we'll have to set a bow watch."

"Oh...joygasm..." Ted sighed, knowing what that meant.

"We won't head back until this weather clears, and it's warmed up a bit...man, these cinnamon rolls haven't changed one bit, have they?"

"I just saw a yummy looking bagels and lox," Tracy said. "I'm gonna get that."

He looked at her, wondered just how much she could put away. She'd been eating non-stop for the last two days, nauseated if she didn't eat, and he felt for her. Again...

"Yeah, it looked pretty bad," Ted added.

"Bad?" he asked.

"Bad...sick...that means they really kick ass these days, Dad."

"Ah. Well, good to know I have a translator."

The door opened and a girl came in – a woman, really, he noted. Short, squat, almost soft looking, and she peeled off her rain gear – then turned and shook them off just outside the door. She came back in and hung them on a hook, then took a microfiber cloth and cleaned her eyeglasses as she walked to the counter – and he found he couldn't take his eyes off her.

The place was empty now – but for the four of them and the staff, and he wondered what had gotten her out so early. He watched her order coffee at the counter then she turned and looked right at him – right in the eye – and he couldn't turn away.

Red hair, white skin set in a nebula of freckles, and even across the room he could see her eyes were deep blue – then the woman walked right up to their table...!

"You came in on the blue boat, right?" she asked – and her accent was pure Georgia, thick as molasses.

He was watching her lips, entranced by the shape of them as she spoke, then her words registered. "That's right. What brings you out this early in the morning?"

She looked puzzled hearing that, shook her head. "I was trying to get over to Cortes Island," she said, the question she wanted to ask hanging in the air, apparent.

"Oh? What's over there?"

And again she shook her head, the tone of his question obviously unsettling. "Seals, for the most part. I wanted to take pictures of seals over there, because I've heard it's lovely at dusk."

"It might be," Ted interjected, "if the sun came out every once in a while."

She laughed a little at that. "Yes. Nice weather so far."

"How long have you got?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" she replied.

"To spend on the island?"

"I was hoping to make it a day trip, but it seems that's impossible from here."

"Yup," he added. "About a two-hour trip. From here, anyway."

"You've been?"

"Yup. We've been anchored at Squirrel Cove..."

"Really! That's just where I wanted to go. The pictures I've seen of the area are really just amazing."

"We had fifty-foot visibility," Ted began, a little sarcastically. "Great for looking at, what, Dad? What could we see?"

"Trees. Once."

"And a whole lot of fog," Ted added.

Her coffee came and she took it, still standing by their table.

"Would you care to join us?" he asked.

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all."

"So, you see, I wanted to get to the island, walk around, take pictures, then get back here, to the hotel..."

"I thought there was a boat to Whaletown...?"

"There is, but not for two days."

Not too many places to stay over there, by that cove," he added. A few guest cottages, but they're..."

"Well, it's too early in the season. Not open yet."

"So," he said, then he paused, thought over the options running through his mind, "you could hop over with us. We're headed back after breakfast, we'll probably stay for a few more days, so you could look for a place to bunk out over there, then hitch a ride back with us."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"No, of course not."

"When are you leaving?"

"As soon as we have some chow."

"I ask as I'll need to go pack my things and check-out..."

"Why don't you sit down and have some breakfast. We'll help with your bags..."

And when she looked at him this time the still, unsettled look in her eyes rattled him. "I don't mean to be forward," he added. "Probably just be easier that way."

She nodded her head then looked at the dock where Altair was tied-off. "Is she an Island Packet?" she asked.

"That's right. How'd you know?"

"I've had a couple. Last was a 325 I kept down at Destin."

"I hate that harbor entrance," he said, lost in a memory. "When the wind picks up it's snarky."

Now it was her turn to take a deeper look – at him. "You've been there more than once, I take it?"

"My folks retired there. He kept a Tashiba 40 down there by the pass."

"Oh? Nice boats, beautiful interiors."

He nodded. "Yup."

"That's what got you into sailing? Your parents?"

"I guess so, yes, but I was always interested, even as a kid..."

He looked at Ted just then, looked at Ted looking at this stranger, then back at him. And his son was grinning, or trying not to grin...and that got to him...as in – just what kind of signals am I putting out?

"So," the woman asked. "This is your first boat?"

"Yup. Probably my last, too."

"Really? Why do you..."

"Well, it's home now. And I'm not big on moving."

"You're full time? A liveaboard?"

"Seems to be the general consensus," he said, grinning.

"What do you do?"

"I fly, for Delta."

That seemed to take her back a notch, too. "No kidding?"

"No kidding."

"My husband flew for them...I mean, my ex-husband flies for them?"

"Oh? What's his name?"

"Terry Goodway..."

And he laughed at that. "Small world," he sighed. "He flew with me a bunch when he first got his type. What's he up to these days."

"I don't know, besides hanging out with his brand new, nineteen-year-old wife."

And he laughed again. "You're kiddin' – right?" But he could tell by the expression on her face that no, she wasn't kidding. Not in the slightest. "I'm sorry," he stumbled, "but I don't recall your name."

"Melissa."

"Jim," he said, reaching out with his right hand.

She took it, but at the same time added: "And let me guess. Your wife got the house, and you got stuck with the boat...?"

Ted bristled. "Not quite," his son snarled, his voice dripping with malice. "Dad gave her the house, and he took the boat."

"Oh, really?" Melissa said, her disbelief plain to see.

"Really!" Ted said – as he pushed his chair back and walked outside.

"Wow, sorry..." the woman said. "He's...uh..."

"Pretty sensitive about things right now. It happened not long ago."

"And, well, still waters run deep, I guess. What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"She's had issues. We decided it was a good time to go our separate ways."

And she looked at him again, this time as if she was changing her mind, then she looked at Tracy.

"And you are?"

"Staying out of this," Tracy said, matter-of-factly.

"No, dear. Do you have a name?"

"No, not right now I don't."

"Ah, well," Melissa said, looking at him, "perhaps I'd better let you and your happy brood go your merry way."

He stood as she stood, then held out his hand again. "Nice to meet you. Hope you get to your island."

"Thanks," she said, then she went back out into the early morning drizzle.

He watched her go, saw Ted walk up to her and he watched them talk for a few minutes, then they shook hands and Ted came back inside.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"Nothing. I just needed to clear the air."

"Okay."

The rest of their breakfast passed in near silence, and when it was time to pay-up he went to the counter and had more cinnamon rolls boxed-up to-go, some bread, too, then they walked down to the fuel dock together.

Melissa was there, a large blue duffel at her feet, waiting for them.

+++++

He was waiting outside the operating room, pacing back and forth in quick, anxious strides. She was eight months pregnant – but had gained almost a hundred and ten pounds – and now her blood pressure was off the charts. 223 over 130 earlier that afternoon – when someone at her office had insisted she go to the hospital, and when her obstetrician arrived she'd insisted they try to induce labor, or, failing that, take the baby before he was compromised.

He'd been somewhere over Florida when the SELCAL chimed, someone on the company frequency calling. He'd taken the news calmly, outwardly at least, but he was hurt, almost angry as he listened to the chief pilot telling him what was happening. He'd done everything he could to get her to stop eating, had cooked the healthiest meals he knew how – only to find out she'd been eating several candy bars – an hour – all day at work. She was, he understood now, content to not merely kill herself. She was going to take as many people down with her as she could, and he wondered what he might try next.

At least he'd gotten her off the sauce. He'd begged her to do at least that much, at least until the baby came, and she'd relented, promised him she wouldn't – until he came.

Pacing the floor he had wondered...had she scarfed down the most damaging crap in the world simply to put on as many pounds as possible – so she could resume drinking that much sooner? Had his faith in her fallen so low? Had his faith in himself fallen so far...?

Her doc came out a while later, told him that both she and their son were alright now, that the boy was a little premature but nothing serious, and he had fallen away inside the moment, tried to hang on to that one bit of good news for as long as he could.

+

She let him know, in no uncertain terms, that she had no intention at all of staying home with Ted, not even for breastfeeding, and he'd simply nodded.

"You're going back to work, I take it?"

"That's right," she said – bitterly. "And don't you dare try to stop me!" she'd screamed.

"Oh, I wouldn't think of it, Barbara," he'd whispered, then he'd gone to change the boy's diaper. Later that morning he called his mother, told her what was happening. She'd flown up that night, moved into the guest room and taken over – and had never once uttered a bad thing about anything, or anyone. In time he realized that Barbara loved his mother more than she loved her own, this his mother was the mother she'd never known. Babs began watching his mother, learning from her, and in time she learned to love honestly, without condition, perhaps for the first time in her life. On Ted's second birthday she had promised him she'd never drink again, that she'd try to be a better mother...

And, within a few weeks, she was drinking again.

And his mother came back, resumed her duties while he flew and Barbara worked, then got drunk. Night after night. He tried to get her to seek help, any kind of help, but she would curse him and flee into the night.

In time they, he and Ted, started spending time down in Destin, spending time with his father on Altair. His father's Altair. When the weather was nice they'd go out the cut and sail offshore, and Ted had always loved those bouncy rides best of all, and other times they had motored down the intra-coastal waterway, all the way to Panama City most trips, then they'd come back by way of the sea.

One day they'd been offshore when Ted spotted a weird, drooping fin of some sort and they'd altered course, gone over to see what it was...

"Oh," Ted's grandfather said, "that's a Thresher shark. Not real dangerous, but he's pretty weird looking, isn't he?"

Other days they went out and ran across pods of dolphin and Ted would lean over and reach out for them as they swam alongside; he'd learned early on that his son had fantastic balance, and was fearless, too. He'd held on protectively until Ted was seven or eight, then he knew enough to just let go.

His father had been a pilot, too, in the war. The Big One, as it was called. Flown B-17s over Germany and lived to tell the tale, or so his old man liked to say – when he'd had a few too many, anyway, then he'd come home and gone back to work for his father...at the family's hardware store in St Johnsbury, in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. He'd married his high school sweetheart and they'd had one girl – and then him, many years later. His sister Becky died when she was in kindergarten, and so he'd learned all about love and loss and life and death – and at an impossibly early age. Lessons, he knew now, that had never slipped away...lessons he'd learned from his father.

When he went away to college, to Boston College, his father had known it was all over, but really, he had known for years. His father had managed to get hold of a Cub, a Piper Cub, and had started teaching his son to fly. They flew the Green Mountains, up and down the Connecticut River Valley and all around Lake Champlain, and before long he knew that's what his son wanted to do. His father knew all too well, if only because that had been his dream, too.

But there had been the family business lined up against all those distant hopes and dreams, his son taking over the family business chief among them, yet in the end it had been easier to sell out than to hold on a little longer, so his father had done what he had to do, then moved to Florida and settled in for the duration. And somehow Altair had become a part of his father's new life down there. Not golf, not tennis, not even flying...no, it was sailing – something he'd never imagined his father doing...and yet his old man had taken to it with a vengeance – like a duck to water. His old man had even bought an old Greek fisherman's cap and had been known to hang out around the docks, talking the talk.